The Wooster Wins the Day
by SherlockianGirl
Summary: When Jeeves effectively kidnaps Bertie's new winter coat, Bertie declares war on his valet and the two gentlemen are thrown into a domestic battle of wits and revenge.


This was war.

Yesterday, Jeeves had proclaimed my new winter coat to bear the likeness of a very large orangutan, something that a chappie who loves said coat does not like to hear. But then the blighter went and locked it up somewhere in the flat, probably until he could throw it on a bonfire or whatnot. He claimed to have misplaced the coat, but we Woosters are not so easily fooled.

But that was jolly well fine and dandy. I made up my mind to put the old feudal foot down once and for all. A man can wear what he dashed well pleases, so I pinched his copy of Spinoza and would hold the blasted thing hostage until that coat was once again in the hallway closet.

"Looking for something, Jeeves?" I put down my newspaper and sat up against the pillows with a smile. A smug smile, you might even say.

He cleared his throat. "No, sir."

Jeeves had been prowling about the room, picking up this and that, but it was when he began dusting the curtains that I began to suspect something. As I've said before, a chappie just doesn't dust curtains. I mean, there a bit-lot of other things to do besides dust the dratted curtains. This could only have meant that Jeeves was infernally bored or he was looking for something whilst floating about the chamber. My smile got smugger, if smugger is a word. He could send out a bally search party if he so wished, but he wasn't going to find Spinoza.

I clacked my cup back on its saucer. "Right ho, then. I'm done with this bit of tea, so how about some breakfast, Jeeves?"

The man looked at me blandly and I saw his mouth twitch ever so slightly. "Very good, sir," he replied in an almost uppish tone, which I did not care for in the least. But he wisped from the room before I could reprimand him for it. It's a rummy thing, how Jeeves flits in and out of rooms. Sometimes I think he dissipates into a Jeeves-like cloud and floats about through the ventilation system, or something like that. Yes, it's downright rummy how he does that.

I turned my attention back to the paper and skimmed about the words for bit. That is, until I caught the smell of something burning. I lowered the print and looked down at the tray that had appeared suddenly on my lap. Or, rather, the plate that was on the tray. The plate that was sending up a tiny billow of smoke.

"My plate is sending up a tiny billow of smoke!"

"So it appears, sir." Jeeves had reappeared at the bedside, looking as much like a stuffed frog as ever.

I poked at what looked to be a food substance. "What is this?"

"Eggs, sir."

"And this?"

"Bacon, sir."

"And this blackened piece is…?"

"Toast, sir."

I folded my arms across my chest and fixed the man with a cross look. "And what do you call this, Jeeves?"

"Breakfast flambé, sir."

I pursed the lips. This was Spinoza's fault, the blighter. But I bucked up and dug the fork into the bit that looked like an egg before shoving it down the hatch. Beastly stuff, rubber eggs, but there you have it. Jeeves's little scheme had fizzled out in the end.

"That will be all, Jeeves."

"Sir?"

I bit into the charred toast. "Take the afternoon off. Bop on over to the Junior Ganymede or whatever you like. I'll be out and about anyway. You know, the Drones and all that."

Jeeves raised an eyebrow a quarter of an inch. "As you say, sir." Then he melted from the room and was gone.

When I was certain he had left the flat, I toddled from the bedroom and down the hall until I had reached the threshold of Jeeves's room. "Yo ho ho," I sang as I opened the door and made my way across the room to the wardrobe closet. Jeeves would regret incinerating my breakfast.

When Jeeves returned mid-afternoon, I had already returned from my outing and stationed myself in the sitting room to read an improving book. I'm not usually the sort of laddie to read so much of the old black and white, but conspiratorial fellows have to look busy, you know. Jeeves did his usually shimmering about the place for a while, doing a few chores before finally heading for his room.

I popped up and followed him. "I say, Jeeves, how was-"

He opened the door and stiffened. I heard a sharp intake of breath, which I suppose is about as shocked as Jeeves ever gets.

"Good Lord, Jeeves!" I gasped as we stepped into the room. "What happened in here?"

"It appears that someone has taken all of my jackets and tied each one's sleeves into a knot, sir."

My eyes widened. "I say, they all look a bit like straightjackets now, don't they?"

Jeeves narrowed his eyes by the slightest degree. "Yes…_sir_."

I tapped the chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. They look awfully wrinkled, Jeeves."

"Very much so… sir."

"Like someone had thrown them down and danced a snazzy dance number on top of them."

"An apt observation…sir."

"Well, there you have it. I must have left the rooms unlocked when I left for the Drones. I'll bet a chum of mine came by and couldn't resist a bit of pranking, you know. Well, I'll leave you to clean up, Jeeves. I'm off to finish my improving book, what?" I closed the door behind me and made good my escape.

But a storm was brewing, inclement weather widely known to the terrified populace as my Aunt Agatha. The telephone rang some ten minutes later and Jeeves emerged from his chambers to silence the jingling nuisance.

He picked up the receiver. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Gregson."

I felt the lifeblood freeze in the veins. "Tell her I'm not at home, Jeeves!"

"I am sorry, Mrs. Gregson, but Mr. Wooster is not in at the moment. He has gone out for the afternoon."

I let out a breath like a rushing wind. "Thank you, Jee-"

"In his absence, Mrs. Gregson, Mr. Wooster wished me on his behalf to invite you to London for a fortnight stay. He is most anxious for your extended visit to his apartments, and admits daily that he is in dire need of sound, familial advice concerning the general stresses of life. Yes, Mrs. Gregson. Very good, Mrs. Gregson. Good-bye."

I could feel the fiend waking up within. "_Jeeves_!"

"Sir?"

"What the deuce was _that_?"

"Sir?"

"You invited Aunt Agatha to London! _Here!_"

"It has come to my attention, sir, that you have not visited family for quite some time."

"Oh, dash family!"

"I hope I was not remiss in thinking your existence to be a lonely one without such warm, kindly souls as Mrs. Gregson to stimulate your company, sir."

"What absolute rot! You dashed too _are _remiss, Jeeves! You can't get any more remisser than that, if that's a word."

"It is not, sir."

"Come off it, Jeeves! Don't correct my grammar!"

"Very good, sir."

This was bally _it. _The man had gone too far. It was time for the final punch, the clenching biff, the supreme knock on the head that would end this war once and for all. I sallied forth to my room and returned with my weapon, ready for battle.

"Jeeves, I'm going out."

"_Sir?_" His tone hit a higher note, which I suppose is the closest thing to shock as Jeeves gets.

"I said I'm going out, Jeeves."

"In _that_, sir?"

"What's wrong with the suit?"

"It's _purple, _sir."

"And…?"

"It's bright purple_, _sir."

"And…?"

"The entire suit is bright purple, sir_."_

"Yes, and I shall keep wearing this bright purple suit until you give me my winter coat back."

"Sir?"

"I shall wear this suit every day, take it to the launders for a bit of cleaning and keep it under lock and key when not in use. I shall toddle about London in it, drive out in the country in it, and make a visit to the Junior Ganymede in it just for the general 'what ho!' on your behalf before-"

The man's eyes were practically bugging. "The kitchen, sir."

"What?"

"Your winter coat is in the kitchen, sir, third cabinet on the left."

I crossed my arms and smiled my smuggiest smile. If that's a word.


End file.
